


What Kind of Person Comes Into a Diner at Three in the Morning?

by im_not_trash_im_recyclable



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Bucky is a grumpy pupper who wants to go home, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Steve is a clueless hipster who just wants coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_not_trash_im_recyclable/pseuds/im_not_trash_im_recyclable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's shift was supposed to end in three minutes, but some golden-haired hipster had other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Kind of Person Comes Into a Diner at Three in the Morning?

It was ass-o-clock in the morning, and James Buchanan Barnes was pissed. 

His shift was mere _minutes_ from ending, he was having a great time goofing around in the barren restaurant with Natasha, and it was a Friday. So what could possibly have gone wrong in the last three minutes of his long day? 

A blond little punk wearing a beanie, apparently. That's right, some kid decided that he absolutely had to have a nice, warm cup of coffee at three in the fuckin' morning. Effectively stopping Bucky and Natasha from jousting with the mop handles while they were supposed to be cleaning. He had just confidently walked in through the door, paused for a split second upon the sight of Bucky and Natasha frozen mid-swing, and asked, "So… are you closed, or can I order?" Leaving Nat and Bucky to flounder for a few seconds before Natasha shoved the mop in Bucky's direction and walked to the register with embarrassment on all of her features. 

Bucky, of course, was left standing in the middle of the diner like an idiot before he swiped up the mops in one hand and the bucket in the other and stormed into the back to put them away. He was fuming. Who was that kid, and what type of person is he to just walk into a diner right before closing time? It rubbed Bucky in all the wrong ways, but his annoyance probably had something to do with his lack of sleep. And possibly the two small cans of beer he and Natasha had helped themselves to half an hour before _someone_ had showed up. What? It's not like they were expecting a weirdo to barge in and ask for coffee. 

He was done putting away the cleaning supplies, and as much as he would have liked to stay and fester in the storage cabinet for the rest of the night, he wasn't going to just abandon Natasha. So he walked back out, head held high, to Natasha who was in the small kitchen. "James," She greeted. 

"What did he order?" Bucky asked after putting his shaggy hair up in a ponytail and washing his hands, getting ready to make food. 

"Nothing," Natasha murmured, "just a caramel macchiato with cinnamon." Bucky lifted an eyebrow. 

"He comes into the shop at three a.m. and all he orders is a cup of coffee?" 

"It's decaf, if that makes you feel better." Her hands moved quickly, almost finished with the kid's order. She reached to the spice cabinet and pulled out a cinnamon shaker. Bucky's eyes rolled and he crossed his arm, pouting like he was five again. "Also. He's really cute. I wonder if he's single." 

"You already have Clint," Bucky scoffed. "Why are you looking for other guys?"

"I wasn't talking about myself, James." Bucky sputtered for a moment, trying to piece together words to create a sentence. While he struggled, Natasha put a cap onto the steaming coffee cup and extended it to him. "You should go take this to him." 

Bucky grumbled, but accepted it and walked out of the kitchen. He spotted the kid sitting in the corner of the diner, sprawled comfortably across the plush chairs of his booth and scrolling on his phone. Now that Bucky was close enough to get a good look at him, he was impressed. Despite his petite size, he couldn't have been less than a year younger than Bucky. He had a brilliant blonde mop of hair, falling over half of his face with a red beanie thrown on top as something of an afterthought. On his face rested a pair of big, black frames glasses. He was wearing skinny jeans, a white shirt and blue flannel over that, and Bucky could see a few dark lines of a tattoo poking out of his sleeves. On his feet were a pair of converse. Bucky could hardly even remember why he was mad. 

"Hey kid," he set the coffee down on the table. The blonde looked up from his phone, and Bucky was met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes magnified by the glasses. He reached out and took a sip of the drink, before setting it down and giving Bucky a bright smile that could have put the sun to shame. 

"Thank you! It's great…" his eyes landed on Bucky's name tag. "James." 

"You can just call me Bucky," he offered, smiling without meaning to. 

"Bucky," Steve tested the name out, evidently deciding that he liked it. "I'm Steve. Good to meet you." Steve extended his small hand, and Bucky shook. Steve's handshake was surprisingly firm, considering how delicate he looked. 

"Good to meet you too." Bucky could barely tear his gaze away from Steve's eyes, but he managed it. "So what brings you here at three in the morning?" 

"What can I say? I'm an art student at the university, I was working on a piece." Bucky originally wouldn't have thought of the kid as an artist, but once Steve had said that it all made so much sense. Bucky could imagine Steve's thin fingers working nimbly and quickly, maneuvering a pencil or making shapes out of clay. Bucky could easily envision him with a splotch of blue paint on his small nose. He began to wonder what Steve's works looked like. Bucky found himself blanking out, and quickly returned his focus to Steve, who was still talking. "I had a craving, and coffee usually helps me focus on my work. I'm a little more concerned about your little jousting tournament with your friend." 

"Ah, don't even ask," Bucky laughed. Steve joined in. Bucky liked Steve's laugh. It was loud and hearty, not delicate sounding like the rest of him. 

Bucky suddenly became hyperaware of how he was resting his head on his hand and slowly leaning forward. He cleared his throat and straightened back up. "If you need anything just let me know, okay?" 

"Got it," Steve leaned back and curled his legs up in the empty booth, giving Bucky a coy smile before his eyes returned to his phone. Bucky hurried back to the kitchen. 

"How'd it go, Romeo?" Natasha grinned at him once he stepped foot inside and closed the door. 

"What makes you think that he's my type?" Bucky asked defensively, but the blush on his cheeks said otherwise. 

"Just a hunch." 

"He stops by diners in the middle of the night to get coffee. He wears hipster glasses. He probably runs an aesthetic blog on tumblr," Bucky ticked off on his fingers. 

"Well you two sure were looking friendly out there. You should ask him out."

"Naaat," Bucky whined. 

"Buckyyyyy," Natasha mimicked. "Just do it. I know you want to." 

"I hate you. You know that?" But he grabbed a pen and Steve's check and scribbled down a his number along with a little message: _Wanna go out sometime? -B_

Bucky wasn't usually one to ask other guys out on dates; he was not overly fond of attachments. He rarely ever went farther than a one night stand. But whatever Steve was doing, maybe it was the glasses. Or the beanie. Yeah, it was definitely the beanie. But in the end, did it really matter? Bucky was already hopelessly, hilariously enthralled. After taking a deep breath, and glancing sideways to see Natasha give him a big thumbs-up, Bucky strode out to Steve's booth and slid across the table from the blonde, who had looked up from his phone. 

"If there's nothing else I can get you, Steve, here's the check." He slid it over, upside down so the note was visible. He could see Steve's eyes focus on the words, reading them twice as if to make sure that it was real. _Wanna go out sometime?_ The words were big and visible, as was the phone number underneath. Bucky watched as a sly grin spread across Steve's face, and he turned his attention back to his phone, typing away quickly. Seconds later, a small ding came from Bucky's pocket. He pulled out his iPhone and grinned when he saw a text from an unknown number: 

_Hell yes!_


End file.
